


Everything's Great, Suffocate

by kelly_goosecock



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Choking, Cutting, Face Slapping, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 07:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_goosecock/pseuds/kelly_goosecock
Summary: Snake needs something to take his mind off the stress of battle. Lucky for you weirdos, he and Ocelot are into some gross, kinky shit. Lots of deep explorations of their characters in this one, folks. Mhmm.Phantom pain era, no spoilers.





	Everything's Great, Suffocate

**Author's Note:**

> idk bro this is some clumsy degenerate shit. Gave up pretty quick on making it substantive cause I got tired of trying. 
> 
> Title is from "my ass is on fire" by Mr. Bungle

Snake's boots smacked the concrete helipad with what seemed like more force than usual. The sound was almost audible through the blaring whir of the departing helicopter's rotors. Ocelot shielded his hand from the flurry of dust kicked up by the chopper, and, through his fingers, saw that Snake's usual sober if somewhat grim expression was… well, it was his usual expression. Ocelot liked to greet Snake whenever he returned from a long mission, and normally he would see at least some reaction in his boss's face. Sometimes Snake would relax his eyebrows, allowing some light to actually reach his cold eyes. Other times, he would loosen his lips out of their perpetual scowl and into what could almost be considered a smile if you were observant enough to see it. Not this time. 

Snake reached Ocelot's position on the edge of the helipad, and, surprisingly, walked straight past without so much as a grunt.

“Boss.” Ocelot called out. His inflection alone communicated that this was not just a greeting - he wanted answers. Snake stopped, but did not turn back.

“Don't call me that. Not you. Not now.” he said, the fatigue of battle further accentuating the gravel in his voice.

Ocelot began to pace towards his dejected partner, spurs clinking against the hard ground and into the silent air. “Okay, _ Snake. _ Don't ignore me.”

Snake still refused to turn around, continuing, “I lost one.” He had scarcely finished speaking when a familiar gloved hand dropped onto his shoulder. Reflexively, he swatted the hand away with a savage motion, finally turning to deliver a smoldering glare straight through Ocelot's head. 

Ocelot would have chuckled at the immaturity of the reaction had he not known the way Snake tended to take losses. “Right, right, I know. Not in front of the men. ...though I don't happen to think pouting is gonna do much for morale, either.”

Snake's glare did not waver, but the clenching of his jaw muscles told Ocelot that he had no rebuttal. “I know you aren't feelin’ particularly talkative right now, but if you don't get over this, there's gonna be trouble.”

“I could’ve saved him.” Snake spoke so softly it was as if he didn't intend to be heard. “...my fault...”

Ocelot had been down this road before. His years of practice as an interrogator were useless when it came to placating Snake's ashen heart. Words might not work, sure, but they had spent enough time together to figure out something that did. Ocelot just needed to give the signal; Snake could not bring himself to ask.

“My quarters. Fifteen minutes. Take a shower.”

It was one of those rare occasions the Boss was the one obeying an order.

………

Ocelot's room was no more extravagant than the average Diamond Dog's: a desk, a footlocker, a bed with a pitifully thin mattress, and a sparse assortment of random amenities. Despite how generic the sterile metal bedroom was, it was still somewhat familiar to Snake. That clutter of files and cassettes on the desk? No one else on the entire base would dare leave their workplace looking like that if they knew the Boss was around. Obviously, Ocelot wasn't just anyone. “You know the drill. Sit.”

Snake lowered himself onto the side of the cot, arms in his lap. He was clearly trying to look collected and dignified despite what he knew the future held. Across the room, his old friend was rummaging around in a bag. 

Ocelot produced a small tri-fold canvas satchel, sitting it to the side on the floor. He rose, standing over an uncharacteristically vulnerable looking Snake. "Shirt." Ocelot pointed straight down to his feet. His command was granted, the thick synthetic garment crumpling to the floor with a soft _ whump. _

Snake's chest looked like an example image from a medical textbook on wound care. Valleys and canyons of scar tissue twisted across his hairless pecs in various shades of pink. Some were outlined with the telltale dots of surgical staples, others were puckered smoothly shut with medical precision, and others still were hastily stitched together, jagged and raw. One could almost read his body like braille - “knife slash, grazed bullet, bullet hole, skin graft, stabwound” - and piece together in moments a decades-long history of battle. Sometimes Ocelot did just that, provided he was feeling sentimental. He had his own war-wounds, sure, but having had barely a fraction of Snake’s time on the front lines meant that his collection was far less impressive. 

There was a fresh bandage around Snake's right bicep. "You get hit?" Ocelot asked. He ran his fingers over the rough cloth, finding a shallow notch on the outside of the man's arm.

"Just a graze. Not that deep."

"Not deep enough, I take it."

"Ocelot."

Ocelot raised an eyebrow. He was almost done teasing. Snake was getting impatient, a fact that was reflected in his thinning voice. "Just do it."

A knowing nod. The silver-haired man reached down into his boot, retrieving a smallish bowie knife. The Diamond Dogs' standard issue blade was much fancier, sporting a sleek design and just about every 'tactical' feature one could implement in something as simple as a knife. Ocelot didn't bother with any of that. What he carried was like something out of a quintessential cowboy movie with its wood handle and swept tip. Its freshly sharpened grind glinted in the soft fluorescent light. 

So many men had felt the edge of that blade. With every interrogation, every victim, Ocelot became more adept at judging the appropriate amount of pressure and speed for each slice. It was an artful balancing game - a game of life and death for those on the receiving end. How deep does it really need to go? Go too far and you risk irreparable muscular damage and fatal hemorrhaging. Go too soft and you'll only faze the weak ones. Cut a man just right, though, and he'll never forget it. It was an ability that Ocelot took great pride in. 

The blade dragged slowly across Snake's upper chest, his skin pursing open like a grimacing pair of lips. The pink-white of his exposed dermal tissue was visible for a moment before welling up, soft and crimson. Snake sighed. One can build a tolerance for pain somewhat easily, but the mental connection between injury and adrenaline can never be severed. The rush was only part of it for Snake, though. Each death in the field meant reparation, atonement that could only be sealed with blood.

That blood ran along the wound and spilled out of the corner like it was a tear duct. Ocelot wiped the knife clean on his pant leg. "That enough?"

"For now."

The blade slipped snugly back into Ocelot's hidden sheath. He leaned down, wrapping a thicket of Snake's still-damp hair around his fingers. He pulled it taut with a growl. "We're not through, though. Are we?"

Their faces were almost touching, and Ocelot could see the rare spark of hunger in his boss's eyes. Words would not be necessary.

Ocelot yanked Snake's head to the side and bit down into the tender skin of his neck. Snake hummed in quiet approval. He felt a hand creep up his abdomen and brush against his bare nipple as more kisses and bites were planted up and down his collar. The dull pinch of those teeth sent sparks of electricity down his spine and into his hardening member. Instinctively, his hands wrapped around Ocelot, pulling the man's hips into his lap. 

Ocelot's hand - now bare, gloveless - scraped across the mottled, silky scar tissue of Snake's chest, toying with his sensitive skin. A dribble of red crept down onto his hand. Ocelot felt the wetness and pulled back, maintaining his grip on Snake's head. He held a stained finger in front of his boss's face. Snake understood, and allowed his jaw to fall open, taking the bloodied digit into his mouth. He tongued and sucked at the copper-iron taste until it disappeared completely. The finger slipped back out of his lips, and he leaned forward to greedily lap at the receding hand. 

Ocelot grinned. He undid Snake's pants, tugging his member past the waistband of his underwear. It throbbed in his hand with an undeniable ferocity. _ Not bad, old man. _

Blood ran down the peak of Snake's chest, dripping onto his abdomen, which heaved in unison with the squeezing, aching pressure of Ocelot's hand around him. Air rattled in his throat, hot and thick. Every grinding stroke fed into a pulsing warmth that was growing in his skull, sending shockwaves through his body and drowning out the ringing reports of distant gunfire that underscored his every waking moment. 

A pressure was building inside of Snake's body, a rolling boil that turned his insides to steam. Ocelot stoked the fire beneath him, leaning in for a ragged kiss, which was returned with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. A rhythm formed between the meeting of their lips and the desperate rutting of Snake's hips. The flow of time seemed to choke, the room becoming separated from the rest of the universe. What felt like hours passed, Snake's heartbeat thumping in his ears the whole time. Eventually, between breaths, he managed, "Cut me- again-"

With his unoccupied hand, Ocelot obliged. Once more he brought the knife to his boss's chest - the other side this time. The blade sent flames shooting into Snake's skin, pinching, tearing up his flesh. He grunted like an injured animal barely clinging to life. A purifying fire radiated from the screaming wound, thrumming, pumping through him. Down, down, down it pumped - through his heart, through his guts - searing, bubbling, and threatening to burst as it squeezed past his pelvis and into his groin. 

Snake fell backwards onto his hands, his eyes clenched shut. Tremors rocked through his powerful thighs with enough force to jostle the man in his lap. For a moment, he sensed nothing but a whirling hurricane of pleasure uprooting the sights and sounds of atrocity from his mind. It was fleeting, to say the least. When the aftershocks of the explosion passed, Ocelot dismounted the bed, kneeling to lap up the mess Snake had made on his own abdomen. Ocelot was smirking around his tongue, staring expectantly upwards. Snake turned his head, deliberately avoiding eye contact as if to say, 'I wouldn't admit that's cute if you put a gun to my head.'

Once Ocelot decided Snake was clean enough, he reached for the satchel he set aside earlier. “Stop,” a voice from the bed interrupted. “You're not done.”

“What, you want another?” Ocelot mumbled, reaching for his knife.

“No, I mean _ you're _ not ‘done’ _ .” _

Ocelot cracked a tired smile. “Does it really matter? You got what you wanted, I had a bit of my fun... We're not as young as we used to be, and we're twice as busy. Getting off isn't high on my priority list.”

“Just get over here and fuck me.”

Ocelot's smile vanished. He cocked an eyebrow. “That an order?”

Again, the cold glare radiating from the silent man on the bed was answer enough.

“Fine,” Ocelot huffed. “Pants.”

They met a fate similar to that of Snake's shirt, followed quickly by his underwear. Ocelot didn't bother disrobing past the gloves - he had work to do later. Instead, he merely hitched his trousers down a few inches, belt undone but still threaded through its loops. “Geddown,” he snarled, shoving Snake onto his back. He pulled Snake's legs up so that they straddled his body and stayed pinned that way. As he spit into his hand - the saliva that would surely be the only lubricant involved here - Ocelot thought, “_ gee, if only I had some time to prepare for this I could have swiped some petroleum jelly from medical. you impulsive prick. I oughta… ” _

Despite his rambling internal grievances, he was still hard. Whether he liked it or not, Snake did have that effect on him, even after all those years. Ocelot transferred the wetness in his hand to Snake's opening, which flinched involuntarily. Snake's eyes had regained that hungry sort of look, and Ocelot returned his own gaze, with which he attempted to say, “_ you better be happy.” _He nestled the tip of his cock against Snake's hole and leaned forward with a slow thrust.

There was something vaguely familiar and perhaps even comforting about the stinging intrusion of the foreign object currently nudging its way into Snake. It filled him like a knife in his chest or a bullet through the gut. He may have already spent his load, but his capacity for arousal had not disappeared. With every laborious thrust, Ocelot's woefully dry cock raked and dragged across Snake's sensitive insides, dispersing through him a primitive, life affirming pleasure. 

A heavy hand felt its way onto Snake's neck, its well trained thumb pressed hard into the area above his larynx. He batted once at it, failing miserably to dislodge Ocelot's grip. Snake was stronger than him, sure, but he wasn't the one who had just spent hours in the field - no one would have the strength to fight back after that. 

Out of nowhere - a loud ** _clap_ **. Snake's ears were ringing - a different sound to the gunfire induced tinnitus he had become used to. His face stung. With what little breath he could gather through the grip on his throat, he managed, "Ocelot- Did you just-"

** _Clap_ **

Snake involuntarily whimpered. The force of the slap pushed his jaw to close on his own tongue, making that copper taste flow again. Ocelot's thrusts grew more savage, more desperate. He thumbed the deep wounds on Snake's chest, drawing yet more pathetic sounds out of the large man. 

** _Clap_ **

The strike left half a bloody handprint on Snake's cheek. He lacked the will to complain. His arm stung, his chest stung, his face stung, his tongue stung, his ass stung… The heady, swirling mixture of pleasure and pain permeated his entire being, drowning his brain in an intoxicating mess of sensation. Ocelot's cock continued ramming against his sensitive insides, faster, harder, faster, harder…

The grip on Snake's neck tightened, but he would not have been trying to breathe anyway. His eyes rolled helplessly back, a second orgasm racking his tired body with cataleptic spasms. His limp cock dribbled a pathetic load onto his lower belly. Ocelot sighed, resigning himself to the truth of the situation - he was enjoying himself - before spilling over into Snake's ass, his legs clenching with every spurt. 

Both men fell somewhat slack as Ocelot freed Snake from his grip. He withdrew, finally retrieving that satchel from the ground. Snake was content to lay still; the thrumming aftershocks of his climax were the only things keeping him from falling into a deep, well-deserved sleep. 

One pouch of the satchel held a package of sanitary wipes, with which Ocelot cleaned his hands and Snake's wounds. From the other pouch he retrieved a needle holder, and from the third, an individually packaged and sterilized suture. 

Another pinch jolted Snake's mind awake again. Ocelot was no medic, but his hand was startlingly steady and his technique undeniably practiced. One last sanguine dribble escaped the pink chasm in Snake's chest as it was cinched shut. As he continued his work on the other wound, Ocelot grumbled reluctantly, "You're gonna wanna clean yourself up and get to bed, I reckon. I'll get a towel and some clothes, n' make sure you can get to the shower… unperturbed."

......…

Ocelot returned to find that, rather than preparing himself to leave, Snake had stretched out in the bed and fallen fast asleep. Ocelot called out, "Snake. Snake! Wake your ass up!" Nothing. He grabbed the man's shoulder and shook. "Get up, you fuck. Come _ on…" _Not even a groan. 

Ocelot unclipped his radio from his belt. "Come in, Medical Team. This is Ocelot. ...I'm gonna need a few of your men to do me a favor. Yes. He did it again. ...mhmm, consider it clandestine. I wouldn't have called personally if it wasn't a big deal. Draw a bath and get a bed ready, like always. Of course. _ ...remember _ , this _ never happened _."

He tossed the radio onto his desk with a clatter.

"Prick."


End file.
